


No Regrets

by Writing-The-Impractical-Jokers (writingfanfic)



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: F/M, Suddenly smut appears, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-The-Impractical-Jokers
Summary: For the prompt: 'could you please do a Q fic on his wedding night?'Of course. The Colonel has no regrets.





	1. Chapter 1

“Okay. So… how you managed to get me to go through with this, I have no idea.”

You smile exhaustedly at your b- husband. He’s your husband now, not your  _fiancée_ as you told your entire family after he accepted your proposal, but your actual bona-fide legally-bound husband.

“Uh… me neither, to be honest. I might shackle you to the bed tonight,” you say honestly, and he smiles at you.

“No fear. I’m too fucking tired to hop the balcony. Plus, you know, the bathtub in this suite is fucking nuts. Have you seen it? We can both fit in it.” You grin, leaning against him, and he moves your – slightly wonky – birdcage veil aside. “Well,  _Mrs Quinn_ …”

“As the wife of a colonel, do I not get any cool title?” you ask, and he grins.

“Sorry. Shoulda thought about it before you changed your name.” He kisses you, and you lean your head on his shoulder. “Are you fuckin’ tired? I’m fuckin’ tired and all we did was get married. Now we gotta deal with our family. Are you gettin’ changed?”

“ _All_  we did? I’ve been carrying this dress around for nigh-on ten hours,” you sigh, and he kisses your hand. “I think Benji got lost in it.” Q laughs, and you join in too after a second.

“Nah, we got them back into the carriers. I’m so glad I talked outta them having the ring around their collars. Brook woulda eaten hers.” He lies back on the bed, and you lie with him, curled up to him. “I can’t believe we’re gettin’ a flight in six hours. I can’t believe your baby cousin threw up during the vows. Same, kid.”

“I warned everyone. No babies. But when they’re that young…” You sigh, and lie there in silence for a few more seconds. The party is getting going downstairs, but… you reason, it’s  _your_  wedding. You can be a little late to the reception. “I am going to get changed, I think.”

“You look beautiful,” he says, quietly, and you look up at him. “Seriously. You look… stunning in that dress. When you came out, I mighta cried. A little bit.” You smile up at him, and he strokes his fingers through your hair. “I never… you know. Thought about this. But I’m glad I did it with you.”

“I’m glad you did too,” you say, and kiss his hand – his fingers are cold, and you breathe on them a little for a moment, making him smile. “You looked very handsome.” He laughs, and you stroke his stomach. “You do. You look very, very handsome.  _Husband_.”

“Yeesh.  _Wife_. What next? Stock options?” You prod him, and he leans down to kiss your head. “Christ.” You lie there – somewhere downstairs, someone is playing  _Evacuate the Dancefloor_  by Cascada, and you don’t remember authorising that. “It’s kinda weird, but… this doesn’t feel different. At all, really. I don’t feel… different.”

“I think,” you say, slowly as you yawn into his ribs, “that if you’re doing it right, it doesn’t.” He doesn’t reply to that, instead stroking your hair as thoughts occur to him, until he voices one.

“Any regrets, yet?”

“Hell no,” you reply. “You?”

“None yet, but the cake is still fresh in my beard. I gotta wash that out, which reminds me – we got a first dance to have,” he says, softly, and you lay your arm over his stomach. “Come on, or you’re gonna fall asleep, and if you go downstairs with your face all smudged and your hair all flat, you’re gonna be pissed. Come on.” You kiss his stomach, and he exhales. “I love you.  _Wife_.”

“I love you too, Brian. Alright. I’ll get changed.” You sit up, and wink at him. “You haven’t seen my special wedding lingerie, have you?” He smirks, eyes glittering, and pulls you back onto the bed.

“Show me that. Then… we go downstairs.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 'I loved the Q wedding night! Would you be ok to do an nsfw version please?'
> 
> I sure can!

“Okay,” you say, playfully, and flip over, straddling him; he looks up at you, dark eyes full of anticipation. “I mean, I  _have_  got to get changed into my evening dress…” You pull your veil off, and cast it onto the plush chair beside the bed, aware that it cost more than your month’s rent. “Help me?”

“You are on top of me. You think I’m some kinda gymnast?” he banters at you, but slides his hands behind your back and begins to untie the ribbons keeping your corset tied up. “Jesus. Is this a wedding dress or some kinda bondage outfit…?”

You lean down to kiss him, and he gently pulls it loose as you do so; you shuffle back, and stand at the foot of the bed, hoping this works like it does in the movies. There’s a catch  _just_  at the base of your spine, you think… you unclip it, and release, hoping it will fall to the ground gracefully and beautifully.

It does, mostly, but it snags on your knee on the way down. Ah well. You strike a pose, and wink at your husband –  _still feels weird saying that!_  – who is staring at you in what appears to be awe.

“What do you think?”

You picked these as soon as you saw them; you’re wearing a balcony bra in champagne with pearl beading, and a matching high-waisted pantie set with stocking clips. He hasn’t really been able to see your stockings; there was a brief moment of confusion post-wedding where you had to remind yourself whether you were wearing a garter or not, but your dress went down to the floor, so this is the first time he’s seen your underwear in all of its glory.

“C’mon, Brian, you’re normally full of opinions.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re gorgeous?” he croaks, and you giggle. “Fuck, woman, you’re nearly killing me.” You approach him, crawling back on top of him, and try to pull his bow tie off with your teeth. It’s a clip-on. It comes away, and you sit up, gracelessly spitting it out as he laughs, and then you shake your head.

“A clip-on bow tie? To our wedding?”

“A marriage was enough commitment for one day.” He runs his rough hands up your sides. “How long have we got?”

“About… probably about twenty minutes.” You grind your hips down, and he bites his lip, looking up at you again. “Plenty of time. And it’s  _our_  wedding…” He nods, and flips you over, gripping your hip for a moment before he shrugs his jacket off. You clap your hands gleefully, and he rolls his eyes.

“Loser.”

“Lameface.”

“That’s not a word.” He begins to unbutton his shirt, and you run your fingers down it before they fly to help him. “I can unbutton a shirt, please, I am capable.”

“I want to help.” You unbutton them, and as you get down to just below his chest, you notice what he’s wearing underneath, and sigh loudly. “ _Is that a superhero t-shirt?_ ”

“If you can’t name the superhero, this marriage is being annexed. Right now.”  _Annulled,_  you think, but don’t correct him, and look at it critically. The lighting is dim, but you squint-

“Punisher. I thought it was Misfits at first, we need the lights on in here,” you say, and he grins down at you, before kissing you, stubble scratching at your chin. You had assumed he’d shave for your wedding, but you’re sort of glad he didn’t, secretly.

“I was gonna tear my shirt open when we got up here and make a joke, but I am fuckin’ exhausted.” He kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, down to your neck and shoulder, before nipping at it gently. “No divorce for you.”

“I have a set of Wonder Woman underwear for the honeymoon.” He sighs, and you grin at him. “Are you romanced?”

“About as much as I’ll ever be.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” He kisses your shoulder again, and then you push the white shirt off of him. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get on with it.” He reaches out and clicks the bedside lamp on. “Now you can see me in all my glory, you know, since we definitely didn’t have sex until our wedding day, or anything.”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh, and then giggle. “All the other times were practise.”

“Oh lord. Break a leg. Do not – break your leg.” He pulls the Marvel t-shirt off over his head, and you run your fingers through the hair on his chest down to his stomach; he instinctively sucks it in just a little, and you huff through your nose. “If you break your leg, there will be questions asked.”

“It’ll start some cool rumours, possibly,” you say, unbuckling his belt, and he grins at you before gently cupping your breast and running his thumb over your sensitive skin; you shiver, and discard the belt across the room. “You don’t have to get changed…”

“Is it gauche to turn up to your own reception in a Punisher t-shirt and jeans?” he asks, and you snort with laughter before you can stop yourself. “I’ll take that as a yes. Can I do it anyway?”

“We’ve done the pictures. I suppose you can do what you like, but I was looking forward to seeing you in that shirt, opened a little…” He kisses you again, deeply, and you exhale as you feel his hands behind your back, undoing your bra. “Am I gushing about my fantasies?”

“You are. Why you are fantasizing about me, I do not know.”

“In case you failed to notice, we traded jewellery and are now legally bound.” He kneels back and undoes his trousers, before wriggling out of them. “ _You’re_  not wearing special wedding lingerie, I note.”

“I didn’t wear Superman underwear, because that would’ve clashed with the t-shirt.” You gently run your nails down his sides, and he shivers a little. “You look… I can’t describe how beautiful you are right now. Seriously. You look fuckin’ beautiful in a hoodie and sweatpants, but…”

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and kiss him for a moment, legs entwining; you push him up, and pull your unclasped bra off, and he lowers his head to your chest, licking your nipple slowly as you recline back. You moan softly, and he holds your hips steady with one hand as he tenderly pinches your skin with his teeth and you quiver again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, muffled against your skin, and you stroke your fingers through his long, soft hair. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, and he turns his attention to your other breast, pinching your nipple with his fingers before licking it again. You revel in the sensations running through your body; he knows how to make you feel good, and as your body thrills, you feel him slide your underwear down.

“Uh…” He sits up. “Do I unhook it first? From the stockings?”

“Uh…” You shrug, and then unhook it quickly. “There we go.” You hope fervently you can hook them back together again without tearing them later. He pulls down your panties, and kisses his way down your stomach to between your legs; you spread them, and he bites his lip before kissing the inside of your thighs. “Brian…”

He slides a finger inside of you and you tighten around him, shivering; he slides a second in and you grind down on them, moaning lowly. You still feel exhausted, but this feels slow and good and gentle and loving, and you whimper as you feel his tongue gently lap against your clit.

“God, baby.” You can hear  _You Shook Me All Night Long_  through the floor now – ironic. You wonder if anyone’s noticed you’ve vanished, or if they just assume you’re still getting dressed.

“Brian…”

Your body thrills as he licks you out slowly, trembling against the bedcovers, and he digs his thumbs into your thighs, beard scratching your skin as you roll your hips against his mouth. The vibration of the music from below through the bed is adding to the general vibe, and as you arch back, he kisses your inner thigh again and stands up.

You pout, and he rolls his eyes, a lopsided, sweet smile on his mouth as he pulls down his underwear.

“It’s my wedding night too, y’know,” he says, voice quiet and hoarse. “And we’ve got about ten minutes left.” You sit up, leaning forward, and take a hold of his hips, licking along the length of his erection; you get a low grunt in response, and take him into your mouth, hand around the base to gently stroke him as you do so. He rests one hand on your shoulder and the other strokes through your hair; you curl your tongue around the head of his erection, and he exhales slowly.

“God, (Y/N)…”

You kiss the tip of his erection, and he puts his finger under your chin.

“Normally, I would  _not_  stop you, but I really, really want to fuck you.”

“Romance isn’t dead, it’s just maimed,” you say, and he pushes you down, climbing on top of you, shaking his head.

“Romance isn’t dead, it’s just unwelcome in my wedding suite.” He kisses your neck again, and grabs your hips, pulling your legs around his waist. “You drive me nuts, baby. Do you know that?”

“I’m yours now. Legally,” you say, and he grins.

“I knew there was a reason I was doin’ this.” His fingers sink into your flesh as he slides into you slowly, and he swears under his breath. “God, baby, you feel so good…” You roll your hips up against him, and he swears again, burying his face in your shoulder. “Jesus, baby.”

“Fuck me,” you moan in his ear, and he begins to thrust into you. The bed is silent, luckily, apart from the odd ‘thud’ against the wall. Appropriate for the bridal suite, you think, and sink your face into his shoulder to keep from giggling. You sink your nails into his back, and he arches into you, before tugging at your earlobe with his teeth.

“Remember, we gotta go back out there…” he pants, and you nod. You don’t care. To you, marks on his skin mean more than the jewellery you’re both wearing. One of your hands grips onto the bedsheets as you rock with him, feeling his heart pounding against your chest, and yours against his; he slides his hand under your back and lifts you against him, your eyelids fluttering shut as you grind your hips against him. You slide a hand between your bodies, trying to touch yourself, and he moans in your ear.

“Harder,” you pant, and he pulls you so close that your hips grind together, leaving you whimpering faintly as you chase the feeling, movement of your fingers on autopilot.  _You must have about five minutes? Less?_  You don’t care. Everyone else can get hecked, you think. It’s your wedding night and if you want to spend it with your husband on top of you, that’s your prerogative.

“Baby, I’m close,” he pants, and you open your eyes to see his eyes are nearly all pupil, dark circles, and his hair is plastered flat to his forehead; you nod desperately. “C’mon, baby…”

“Brian, keep going,” you moan, and he rolls his hips, movements jerking and erratic as he gets closer to the edge. “Keep going, keep fucking me, come on…” His fingers are starting to hurt where they’re buried just under your ribs, but you keep going. “Come on…”

“Baby, I’m gonna cum-” You know there’s supposed to be a second part to that sentence, but it gets lost in a deep, rumbling moan as he bucks into you, swearing as he comes undone, and you keep rubbing yourself, chasing that feeling as he stills, chest heaving.

“Brian,” you whisper, and then you come, hard, tightening around him, and he pants against you as you arch, moaning his name over and over until finally you slump back onto the bedcovers.

“…merry wedding,” he says, after a moment, and then kisses you. “Okay. We are late. By… I don’t care. I don’t give an actual fuck.” He slides out of you, and then shakes his head. “We need to shower. We… do we need to shower?”

“I do. Uh… didn’t think this through.” You grimace. “Uh… can you go down? Tell them I’ll be late?” He holds out his hand and pulls you to sitting, and you exhale. “Best. Wedding night. Ever.”

“Yeah, you only get one, so, uh, make the most of it.” He kisses your hand, and then sighs. “I am so going downstairs in my Punisher shirt.” You shake your head. “Oh… why not- oh yeah. First dance. Oh, fine. Whatever.”

You grin, and kiss his cheek, and he smiles shyly back at you. Your heart flips, and you lean against him for a moment before a thought hits you.

“We have a flight to catch at 2 a.m.”

He looks at you, and then groans weakly.

“ _Goddamn it._ ”


End file.
